Page 15 of Things I Wish I Said
It’s looser than it once was, my having lost weight. Even my boobs are slightly smaller, though I’d been gifted—or cursed, depending on how you look at it—with a large chest, so my 34Ds are now 34Cs and somehow look bigger on my now smaller, less muscular frame than before I got sick.
With a sigh, I strap on some sandals, then snatch the rollerball of perfume my mom bought me and rub some on my wrists. It’s all natural, mostly a blend of essential oils that smells likeflowers and sweet orange oil—one of Mom’s many nontoxic swaps since getting sick.
Once I’m ready, I rush downstairs, feeling the burn in my lungs as my quick stride eats up the stairs.
I used to run a five-minute mile, but a flight of stairs now leaves me winded.
It pisses me off.
I glance at the clock in the living room and realize they should be here any minute. Thank God they were able to accommodate me and schedule the appointment for this morning while my mother’s at work. Her schedule at the diner is unpredictable, her time in the studio even more so. I’m not sure what—or who—to expect. I should’ve asked if it’s the CEO or an administrator coming today, but I’d been so floored when I called to make the appointment, I couldn’t think of anything other than the fact this might work. If I can convince my mother I have a doting, loving boyfriend who would do anything to protect me, then maybe she’ll let me take the trip.
At exactly ten o’clock, the doorbell rings, and I tense.
For the first time since shooting off that email, I wonder if I should be embarrassed. Most girls my age would probably feel like a complete loser asking for a boyfriend, and though I loathe the idea of being someone’s charity case, my drive to attend the ESPYs is stronger than my pride. Never mind the fact that I’ve never actually had a boyfriend. What little I know about high school relationships, I learned watching my peers. My lack ofexperience directly correlates with how much time I spent on the fields and the fact I went to an all-girls' high school.
For a long time, I was okay with that, because I was going places. Soccer was my world. Everything else came second, including a social life and dating. I had goals—a vision—and it wasn’t that I didn’t want a relationship, but most of the boys I knew couldn’t handle my success. It was as if my talent was somehow a reflection of them and their lack thereof. A few dates here and there with boys I met through camps and travel, and I quickly decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.
I push my shoulders back and head for the door, swinging it open so fast, it takes me a moment to process the boy on my porch.
His back is facing me, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks. His dress shirt is untucked and rolled at the sleeves, revealing thick chords of muscle.
He turns around at the creak of the door hinges, and I suck in a breath.
This tall, gorgeous human with rumpled black hair, gray-blue eyes, a jaw that could cut glass, and tanned, smooth skin is more man than boy.
A tie hangs loosely around his neck, like he’s been yanking at it for a lot longer than he’s been standing there. Combined with his mussed-up locks, he looks disheveled, and it’s sexy as hell.
I gawk, like I’ve never seen a boy before. Like my hormones have decided to take this exact moment to come out of hibernation.
Until I remember why both of us are standing here, and I blush.
“Hey,” he rasps.
Oh, God, his voice is sexy, too.
He steps forward, reaches a hand out. “I’m—”
I don’t even let him finish the sentence before I slam the door in his face, shutting him out.
Chapter five
GRAYSON
The hell?
I stand on the front porch of the Sinclair residence at a complete loss as to what to do after she slams the door in my face.
I frown before deciding to knock again, and I’m about to phone my mother and tell her I’m out when the door swings open one more time.
Fully expecting the girl to give me a repeat performance, I stand there, waiting for her to say something. With any luck, she’s changed her mind, and I can go on my way. Then the guilt my father tied around my neck like a noose will fall away and I’ll have fulfilled my obligation.
The girl—Ryleigh, if I remember correctly from my mother’s text—clears her throat.
Even with no hair, it doesn’t take long for me to see she’s beautiful. With prominent cheekbones and a heart-shaped face, she has the facial structure of an actress or a model, all smooth skin and angular lines. Big hazel eyes stare up at me over a pert nose and full, pink lips.
My gaze flickers lower, and my pulse leaps, finding her body every bit as impressive as her face. Her dress might fit a little loosely on her frame, but her legs are bare. They’re so long and toned, they seem to stretch on for miles while her chest fills the soft material with a swell of creamy skin rising above the neckline.
Fuck. Stop staring at her rack, you dickhead.
